Appendicitis
by trufflemores
Summary: In which Kurt has appendicitis and Blaine is a Very Concerned Boyfriend. Takes place during Season 2 between Original Song and New York. Klaine. COMPLETE.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or any of its characters; Ryan Murphy and Co. hold that honor. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

Blaine had been looking forward to sleeping over at Kurt's dorm all week. It wasn't their first time sharing a room, but there was still something thrilling about being in the same space after everyone else was expected to take their leave. It brought home the fact that Kurt trusted him and wanted to stay even when Kurt's walls were down.

Adjusting his bag self-consciously on his shoulder, aware that trust was a two-way street and that Kurt had yet to see his gel-less hair (Blaine had made a point of falling asleep after him and waking up before him each time), he knocked on Kurt's door and waited, rocking back onto his heels as he did so, one hand settled on his overnight bag.

There was a long, empty pause as he waited for Kurt to respond. The hallways were mostly empty after seven, chatter among friends muffled behind closed doors. Farther down the hall, there were open ones, the more comfortable common rooms filled with Dalton boys. Tempted though he was to mingle and study and spend time with them, Blaine wanted to be with Kurt _more, _and he didn't know what to do about the wall of silence that greeted him.

Glancing down at his watch, he hesitated before knocking again. He wasn't early, and Kurt didn't have any evening classes. It wasn't like him to take off for Lima unexpectedly, either, given the length of the commute. Checking his own phone for new messages proved an equally fruitless route of inquiry; Kurt hadn't messaged him since midmorning, a simple confirmation that their sleepover was definitely on.

"Kurt?" he asked, worry and disappointment warring for dominance as he knocked a third time.

Hand poised to knock again, he almost fell forward when the door swung open abruptly, revealing an alarmingly pale Kurt. He'd slipped out of his uniform in favor of a comfier gray pair of pajamas, but his entire posture remained stiff and uninviting as he leaned against the doorframe, all but swaying on his feet. His hair was uncharacteristically flat on his forehead, damp with sweat. His glassy eyes trailed over Blaine almost without interest, a soft sigh escaping him as he said, "Tonight's our sleepover night, isn't it?"

"What's wrong?" Blaine asked, a hand rising instinctively to cup Kurt's cheek as Kurt sighed in response, deep and tired. "Kurt?" He nudged him back inside, not wanting to push him but needing – _needing _– to fix it.

"I think it's food poisoning," Kurt admitted.

Knowing how loathe he was to pin a name on anything less than perfect health, Blaine winced sympathetically as he guided Kurt over to his bed, his roommate's twin bed vacant for the weekend. "Is there – anything I can bring you that would help? I know you probably can't keep pills down, but water? You should stay hydrated," he added, thinking his own suggestion through as he said, "Here, let me just – I'll get you some water, okay?"

Kurt sat on the edge of the bed and nodded slowly, looking up at Blaine's stomach and latching onto his waist before he could move. Blaine uttered a single startled, "Kurt?" before relaxing as Kurt hugged his waist, resting his burning cheek against Blaine's stomach.

"Just stay for a minute," he said hoarsely.

Blaine carded a hand gently through his hair, humming as he waited, knowing that he still needed to get Kurt water but also aware that he would gladly wait an hour to do so to keep from causing Kurt any more distress. Eventually, to his relief and dismay, Kurt did let go, sinking back onto the covers with a muted groan, shuffling so he was lying with a head propped on one of the pillows. "Here, let me," Blaine offered, sliding a hand underneath Kurt's head and propping it up carefully before angling another pillow underneath it.

Taking Kurt's answering groan as confirmation, Blaine darted off to the bathroom to collect one of the Dixie cups that Kurt kept stored in his cabinets and filled it with water, returning to his side and glancing at his boyfriend worriedly when he didn't move. "Kurt?" he prompted. Kurt's eyes were closed, but they slid open halfway as he regarded Blaine, pushing himself upright again and wincing as he held an arm around his abdomen. Blaine handed him the Dixie cup and waited until he'd emptied it before hurrying off to the bathroom to refill it.

They repeated the process three times before Kurt slumped back to the pillows and refused to move, ignoring the cup when Blaine offered it. Setting the Dixie cup aside, Blaine grabbed the nearest trash can and relocated it to the opposite side of the bed, in easy reach if Kurt needed it.

Reaching out to rub Kurt's shoulder comfortingly as he sat on the edge of the bed, Blaine asked, "Too cold or too hot?"

"Cold," Kurt mumbled, face half-buried in one of the pillows as he reached blindly for the blanket near his feet. Blaine retrieved and draped it over Kurt carefully, tucking it in at the edges so it wouldn't slide off while he slept.

"Better?"

"Mm." Kurt rolled onto his side facing Blaine, holding out an arm invitingly. "Come here."

Blaine didn't need to be asked twice. He'd already dropped his bag by the wall, half-forgotten, and as he slid underneath the blanket and joined Kurt in his over-warm cocoon he felt at home. Idly aware that he would have to wash the gel out of his hair eventually, once Kurt had dozed off completely, he reached out to stroke a hand down Kurt's side soothingly, letting him tangle their fingers together once he reached the end of his arm.

"I would have come sooner if I'd known you were sick," he said, letting Kurt burrow against his own side, his head tucked under Blaine's arm.

He curled up into a ball and said nothing, letting Blaine stroke his side as his breathing puffed in and out, tense and unhappy, unending.

Then he lurched and in a flash he was over the side of the bed, Blaine blinking dazedly at the space where he had been, glassy-eyed and still, before he hurried to join him, rubbing his back as he gagged and clutched the trash can in shaking hands. "It's okay," he soothed, even as Kurt's grip turned vice-like and he moaned, one hand sinking against his side, pushing at a pain Blaine couldn't see. "It's okay, you're all right. I'm here."

. o .

He wouldn't drink at all after that.

Blaine tried on and off for nearly an hour to help, to alleviate his misery _somehow, _but Kurt just curled up in a ball and didn't move.

When Kurt started whining under his breath, soft, whistling sounds, Blaine couldn't sit by idly any longer.

Perhaps the surest sign of Kurt's misery was that he didn't protest when Blaine said, "I think we should go to the ER."

He let Blaine sit him up and bundle him in Blaine's own hoodie, brought as an afterthought since the temperature had been expected to drop over the weekend and he hadn't wanted to have to leave Kurt's side to retrieve warmer wear. Grateful that he'd come prepared, knowing that Kurt's organizational skills could baffle cleverer minds than his when it came to rooting out simpler necessities, he helped Kurt into a pair of socks and shoes before pulling him carefully to his feet.

Then he reached up to rub his face, suddenly overwhelmed with the thought that he was taking Kurt to the ER because he didn't know what was wrong and he couldn't fix it and he _hadn't told Kurt's parents._

"What's wrong?" Kurt rasped, a twisted parody of Blaine's own concern in his shambly, run-down state as Blaine lingered a moment too long on his uncertainty. It was going on eleven at night, Burt and Carole would surely be settling down for the evening, and the last thing that they'd want to hear was a call from Blaine informing them that he was taking their son to the ER.

One look at Kurt and he swallowed his trepidation and said, "Nothing," helping him cross the distance between them and Blaine's Jeep.

Once they were safely ensconced in the car, he took a deep breath, started the engine, pulled out his phone, and dialed Burt's number, knowing that he couldn't put it off any longer. Kurt was hunched down in Blaine's hoodie, his nose buried against the fabric as he shivered and wrapped his arms more tightly around his midsection.

God, that was worrying. Blaine knew that he should know why, he _knew _it, but his mind was always a little slower late at night and he couldn't understand it.

He needed a coffee and a hot shower and a healthy boyfriend, but he settled on taking care of the latter as Burt picked up on the third ring with a simple, "_Hey, bud. Everything okay?_"

"Hey, Burt." Blaine's own stomach was in knots, his free hand gripping the wheel a little too tightly as he drove and explained, "Everything is – everything's good. Except – Kurt's sick, he's really sick and I'm worried and we're on our way to the hospital because I can't take care of him and I don't want him to get _worse _and –"

"_Blaine._"

Deep breath. "Yes?"

"_Slowly. What about a hospital?_"

Slowly. He could do that. "Kurt and I were hanging out," he said. Innocuous and honest enough, but it still made him blush because it was Kurt's father and God knew what he assumed 'hanging out' meant. "He was sick and I tried to keep him comfortable, help him weather it out, but –"

"Let me," Kurt said, sudden in the silence. "You're driving," he added pointedly, voice raspy but firm as he took the phone from Blaine's guiltily relieved hands. "Hi, Dad," he murmured, speaking quietly into the phone as Blaine drove.

They reached the hospital in record time, by Blaine's count, but it was still too long as he watched Kurt struggle to his feet, face ashen. He couldn't walk fully upright, hunched partially over his side as they hobbled to the doors and front desk.

Blaine's ears started ringing as soon as they stepped into the sterile, silent reception area, a TV playing mutely in a corner. His blood ran cold at the memory of the pain of broken bones and the sight of bloody skin, fingers trembling lightly as he approached the receptionists' desk with Kurt at his side, hunched and hurting. It helped focus Blaine, remembering why they were there _then _and not why he had been there before.

He helped situate Kurt in one of the chairs with a sign-in sheet and clipboard as soon as he could, thanking the receptionists before returning to Kurt's side. Kurt filled out the necessary fields with quick, clipped movements, fingers tensing around the pen until he turned it over to Blaine at last, hunching over his middle and not saying a word as Blaine turned the clipboard in.

"How are you holding up?" Blaine asked, needing to break the silence somehow.

Kurt leaned his forehead against Blaine's shoulder in response and said nothing, still holding his stomach tightly.

Blaine wrapped an arm around him and tucked his cheek against his head, rubbing his side soothingly as they waited and waited and waited.

At last, Blaine heard a pair of familiar voices approach, blinking fuzzily and sitting up when Carole and Burt stopped in front of them.

"Dad," Kurt rasped, half-asleep himself, as Burt crouched and gathered him in a careful hug.

"Hey, buddy," he said. "How are you?"

"Kurt?" a nurse called, interrupting him.

"Over here," Blaine supplied as Burt straightened and helped Kurt to his feet, hunched and pale. He moved to follow on leaden feet, unsure where they were going or what would happen to Kurt when the nurse stopped him with a simple, "You eighteen, honey?"

"I – no. I'm seventeen." Then, wincing, he explained, "I'll be eighteen in April."

"Only adults and family are allowed back in triage," the nurse said, distinctly apologetic but no less firm as she held the door open for Burt and Kurt.

Blaine blinked and rubbed his face and tried to think of a compelling argument, knowing only that he _needed _to be with Kurt, when Carole acquiesced, "That's fine. We'll wait out here." Then, to Blaine, she added, "Come on, honey."

Kurt and Burt disappeared behind the door with the nurse, then, Kurt still wearing his hoodie and Blaine still trying to process how they'd been separated, _why _they'd been separated when Carole gently guided him to a chair.

Minutes passed before he spoke, listening to the tick tock of a hand clock on the wall. "I should have gone back with him. I brought him here."

"You did the right thing," Carole assured.

Reaching up to scrub his face with both hands, Blaine let out a slow, shuddering sigh as he asked, "Is he going to be okay?"

"Of course." There was such honest certainty in Carole's voice that Blaine couldn't doubt her, even as he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and inhaled again. "It sounds like a pretty textbook case of appendicitis, and that's highly treatable at this stage. He should be fine."

_Appendicitis. _Blaine's stomach knotted as he tried to grasp the implications of the single word. "That's . . . fatal. If untreated. Right?"

"It can be," Carole said quietly, sensing the change in mood.

Blaine rested his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, waiting for the ringing in his ears to stop.

He nodded once when Carole announced that she was going to check on Kurt, returning five minutes later with the news that they were waiting for a CT scan for confirmation that it was appendicitis.

"Can I see him?"

"If it is appendicitis, then they'll take him back for surgery first, then get him settled in a room," Carole explained, settling into the seat beside him again. "If not, they'll probably have to do more tests. It could be a while," she said, sounding almost apologetic as the nurse had before. "You can go home if you want to, honey. It's late. We'll keep you updated."

Blaine shook his head – he couldn't have slept, not with Kurt in the hospital – and said simply, "I'm not leaving without him."

. o .

Promises were easier to keep in daylight, Blaine reflected, as he stared at the clock on the wall, fuzzy with fatigue and aching with the need to curl up in his own bed and sleep. It was approaching four in the morning, and while Carole had fetched herself a coffee and was flipping absentmindedly through hospital magazines, Blaine couldn't focus on anything but _Kurt _and the radio silence from the nurses, chatting away with each other behind the counters.

"Family of Kurt Hummel?" a nurse announced, as Carole set her magazine aside and rose easily to her feet. Blaine didn't bother move, not daring to hope that he'd be allowed back to see him.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when Carole said, "Come with me if you want to see him; they've got him settled in a room."

"How did the surgery go?" he asked, voice thick as he hurried after them on uncooperative legs.

"Very well," the nurse assured, picking her way down the hallway at an easy clip. "He should make a full recovery. We'll keep him overnight for observation, of course, but we might be able to discharge by early afternoon if all goes well."

Nodding along, Blaine paused outside the door to Kurt's room when the nurse held it open for them, admitting Carole first.

And then he drew in a deep breath and stepped inside, something inside of his chest relaxing at the sight of _Kurt_, clearly groggy and a little disoriented but awake and _alive._ His gaze flicked over to Blaine, a sleepy half-smile twitching his lips when it did.

"Hey." His voice was so cloudy with sleep that Blaine almost didn't recognize it, but he still rushed forward, compelled, as Burt stepped back to confer with Carole.

"Hi," Blaine echoed, taking a seat gingerly, not wanting to intrude but needing to be close to him. "How are you?"

"Very, very tired," Kurt admitted, eyelids fluttering shut as Blaine took his hand and squeezed it, conscious of the IV in the other one.

"Sorry to keep you up," he said, low, hushed. He didn't want to interfere with Kurt's recovery at all, and he could only imagine how exhausted _Kurt _was after everything, shadows around his eyes and bruises forming around his arm from various needles, but he couldn't let go of him, either. Not yet.

"It's only fair," Kurt breathed, barely audible as he squeezed Blaine's hand. "S'posed to be a sleepover, remember?"

Blaine chuckled, a soft sound. "True," he agreed. Then, sensing that Kurt was fading, he added softly, "Go to sleep, angel."

Kurt hummed in quiet affirmation, drifting off as his grip in Blaine's hand relaxed.

Unplanned though it was, the cramped hospital chair still provided one of the best nights of sleep that Blaine had ever had, because Kurt was alive and healing and well, and that was all that mattered.


End file.
